Another late one. But enjoy it anyway!

Hello everybody. (That’s my introduction at the start of each class, and now the students know my routine, so they scream it before I get a chance to say it. Fresh mouths they have.) I hope you are all doing well. I hear the weather is getting better all over, so that’s always a bonus. Yay for warm weather. [Addendum: I hear the weather now sucks there. Sorry for the preemptive congratulations…] Here the temperatures constantly rise and fall, and it’s hindering my beach going. That and the fact that I wake up at noon more often than not. Anyway, let’s do this…

The Chirping Eggs
Ok, so this is going to make me seem a little psychotic, a little neurotic, and a little adorable (if you’re my mom), all rolled into one. So everyone knows it’s pretty easy to make hard-boiled eggs. But I had never done them before, so I looked to my mom to offer me some advice on how to do them. As I thought, you put eggs in boiling water (who would have guessed?!) and leave them in there for a few minutes. But the point of this blog is not to teach you how to boil your damn eggs, it’s to explain why I am so loveable.

So anyway, as I put the three eggs into the boiling water, looking forward to my delicious dinner, they start jittering right away. Naturally, since the water is boiling and making them move about. But then the not so natural thing occurred…I was just sitting down at my computer waiting for them to do their thing, and then all of a sudden I hear chirping!! Yeah, yeah. I know what you all are thinking, but I know what I heard, and what I heard was chirping. So at first I just figure I am being crazy and I attribute it to a bird outside the kitchen window. But, no sign of bird, and the noise gets louder as I approach the boiling eggs.

So what does any ‘normal’ person do in this sort of event? Call her mom, of course, and ask for some sound advice on what to do. But she just laughed at me. And told me the eggs were not chirping. So I turned off the heat under the water to see what would happen, and alas, still chirping! So now I am imagining that the hot water (instead of scalding them) was offering them an expedited incubation, and they were about ready to hatch in my kitchen. I was worried, excited, and frankly disgusted at the prospect.

So after my mom couldn’t quell my fears of hatching eggs in my chicken, I opted to do the next logical thing. Set the chirpers free. So I cracked not one, but all three eggs open with the expectation of finding at least one duckling awaiting my Samaritan kindness. But nothing. So I am officially crazy, and down three perfectly edible eggs.

But there is a moral to this story. Actually two morals. 1) If you hear your eggs chirp, you’re crazy. And now for the more meaningful…2) Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. ;).

A Flying I Will Go
Just a random note to tell you how much of a world traveler I am. By the end of this week, I will have bought 3 tickets in the span of less than 2 weeks. I am going to Paris the 13^th of April, Belgium the 24^th of May, and for all of you that were worried this day would never come…I am coming home the 29^th of June! Go me! And I am dead set on taking a trip to Spain, and Eastern Europe (I am loving the idea of Croatia). So there.

We’re Bananas
Last Sunday and I, Sapna made our way out into the world, finally, after spending too many nights staying in with Prison Break. So we headed to Ma Nolan’s, where we did what we usually do. From the beginning though, Sapna had announced her craving for a crepe. And the thing about crepes is as follows. Once the word crepe is announced, everyone who heard the word is automatically conditioned to crave it, too. It’s Pavlovian to the core. So the both of us were then on a mission to get crepes.

So towards the end of the night, we make our way to our usual and favorite crepe man, but when we get there, he tells us he closed already since there was nobody really downtown. We were highly disappointed, and sensing our disappointment, Mr. Crepe Man offered us a consolation prize…a bunch of bananas. I don’t know who said yes, or why we said yes, but next thing we know, we are walking downtown with a handful of bananas. And we wanted to go back into Ma Nolan’s for a couple of minutes, but the bananas were suddenly posing a problem.

I tried stuffing them into my purse, but they were just too big, and it just felt too wrong. So then we tried offering them to people. They just thought that was really strange and penned it off as us being American. (Although the bouncer at Ma Nolan’s actually took one!) Finally we made our way out of the direct line of sight of the crepe man and found the closest garbage, in which we liberated the bananas into a safe haven, free from wanting mouths. But I hate throwing away food, so it was with mixed emotions. But I could only see the rest of the night going as follows…”Is that a banana in your pocket…”

The Contract of Doom
One of the teacher’s at work approached me the other day and asked me if I could possibly translate something for her friend from French into English. I understood it as a housing advertisement, and figured it should be short and sweet, and good practice for me anyway. So I happily agreed, and she offered to give me a thank you present at the end, to which I implied she was silly, and we giggled, and I went on my happy and ignorant way.

The next night I found her document in my inbox, and after I downloaded the ‘advertisement’, I learned the horrible truth. It was an advertisement for housing, it was a legal contract/lease for a place in France. It took me a good three hours to translate the damn thing (obviously in segments cause of that damn ADD). I still think some things are a little off the mark (and probably sort of funny), but now that I waved off my congratulatory gift for my translating success, my motivation was a little shattered.

But, on the flip side, I now know how to say “semi-detached, one-story farmhouse in Provence.” I’m gonna have to try to work that into conversation soon…

The Laundry Mishap
I hate doing laundry. Here it’s such a process. We have no washer, nor dryer, so not only do we have to handwash, but we have to hand dry, too. On the one hand it’s good, because I don’t have any of those shrunken sweater incidents, or the old turn-your-favorite-white-teeshirt-pink dealies. But, on the other hand, I have to do a good 5 loads since our sink is not very big, and the dry rack is even smaller. And that was all unnecessary segue into this story.

Anyway, a couple days ago I finally decided to do some laundry, and it was the lights first. So I finally washed everything, and was hanging it all out to dry, when I had a casualty. I dropped a pair of underwear into the courtyard. But not any pair of underwear. This ugly pair of granty panties that are none other than bright green with orange and pink writing on it. And not only did it have to bypass the many windows on the way down to the ground, but it fell about a foot away from a motorbike parked in the courtyard. So I had two options. Well three. 1) Curse and get all pissed off that my underwear fell, and just leave it there to prove a point to, well, nobody. 2) Quickly go downstairs to retrieve it, and continue the laundry process. 3) Crack up, grab the camera whilst thinking what good blog material it could be, then in due time make my way down to get the ugly undies.

Guess which one I did….(pictures to follow)

The Threat to End All Threats
So you know when you are younger and the ultimate threat when you’re in school is the “We’re going to call your parents” threat. Or the mother with the old “Do you want me to tell your father?”. Or the sister with the “I’m gonna tell mom!” Anyway, you get the point. So I found it really funny the other day when I was leaving work, and there were all these parents around to pick up their children. I was waiting to cross the street, and I saw this little boy being a little slow and finicky in his leaving. Then I hear his mother say “Stop it! I am going back and telling your teacher!” And I am not kidding when I say this kid practically yelled “Noooo!” and completely became obedient at that moment. I can only imagine what the teacher must be like at that school (it’s the kindergarten, too!). It reminds me of those books I read when I was younger with the really mean teacher who was really a witch. Or maybe she was just French.

My New Obsessions

1) Wentworth Miller (old, yet still somehow new)

2) Veggie Burgers

3) Kiwi (and homemade fruit salads)

4) Dried Bananas

5) My new mini blender

6) The beach

7) Taking Pictures

8) Youtube.com

Angelique’s Balls
Yes, the title of this segment is confusing, and maybe a tad disturbing. But that girl is my hero with what she doesn’t mind saying…outloud…in public. But the other night we were dancing at Wayne’s, and one of the owner’s is also in a band that plays there. So he knows us so we always dance in front of the stage, and then he announces “Our bass player here, physics teacher by day, rockstar by night!” Then Angelique yells really loudly “Wow, so he’s actually smart?!” Fortunately, they are the most honest bunch of guys, so they don’t get offended by sarcasm.

After they played, Angelique, well acquainted with the wine bottle at this point in the night, took it upon herself to start discussing Newton’s theory of Evolution with the teacher, and how Newton wasn’t such a revolutionary since it was only a matter of time since someone discovered gravity (all the while using electric chords, drumsticks, and anything else inappropriate to further demonstrate her point). He said he had to go.

And on the Wayne’s note, I made it in the newsletter. I’m a local celebrity ;). Or just a girl who really likes to dance.

The Beach
I’m there, and you’re not. The end. But then again, my whiteness blends me in with the rocks, and your doesn’t.

Passover Pizza
So, for some reason I take it upon myself to not eat bread, pasta, or anything floury for the week of Passover (which is what you are supposed to do). This year was a little easier, because the week before I decided I needed to cutback on all that stuff anyway, and started to eliminate it, save my “Cheat Sundays” where I get to eat what I want. Anyway, to celebrate the end of the holiday last night, Sapna and I went to get some pizza. It was soooo good. Who would have thought a place called “La Pizza” would have such good pizza? It was so busy, and so filled with Italians, too. That’s one thing about the warm weather here in Nice. You know how rain brings out the worms? Well sun here brings out the Italians. It’s fun though now seeing all the people at night and on the beach J.

I am trying to think of some other good stories to relate, but I think so much has happened that I can’t think of just one good one. Thus I will leave you at that. I will try not to wait so long between blogs in the future!

I miss you all very much!

CIAO xoxoxoxox,
Dina